


Starved

by Outofangband



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angband, Fingolfin is a good uncle, Implied/Referenced Torture, PTSD, Starvation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-29 05:33:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18772213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Outofangband/pseuds/Outofangband
Summary: Two connected drabbles, one longer, one short, one in Angband, one after Maedhros’s rescue. I’m actually quite proud of these, to be honest!)(One of the five lasting effects of torture, as characterized by the CVT and UN, is the way survivors view basic needs, even long after their rescue. Especially as Morgoth liked to make everything, even and especially the most simple tasks and events, an ordeal.)





	Starved

**Author's Note:**

> (also posted on Tumblr @outofangband)

 

_For the third time since he had been thrown back in his cell, Maedhros shifted his position, curling up even more tightly and pressing his skinny, bruised knees to his aching stomach. Despite having been here for weeks (or maybe a month? it was difficult to tell) and spending that amount of time on the tiny rations afforded to the prisoners, he still had not quite gotten used to the ever present hunger. It gnawed at him, shooting pain throughout his abdomen and making even standing up a challenge. Of course, Maedhros had far more pressing worries than the lack of proper food. Nevertheless, while it was not his greatest concern, the hunger was starting to exacerbate his other hardships, making him more tired, more irritable, and making it harder to think clearly._  
_A particularly painful twist in his stomach made him gasp softly. For a moment or so, his vision seemed blurred and he was unaware of the sound of footsteps traveling along the corridor, something his sensitive ears usually detected immediately. They were loud enough for the sound to pound in his head by the time Maedhros was finally sure enough of what was outside the cell door. Slowly, painfully, he dragged himself into a slightly more dignified position, leaning against the wall, his hair falling over his pale face as he stared warily at the being who had entered. Maedhros had known who it was before he entered. Adding to his many other discomforts, fear began to spread through his limbs, making him more dizzy. The Dark Foe had never before visited him in his cell, preferring to have Maedhros dragged through the halls and thrown before him in the horrid place known as the Nethermost Hall where the Vala sat on his throne. Being in such close proximity to his enemy was disquieting, especially in such a weakened state._  
_The Dark Lord approached Maedhros soundlessly, seeming to bend down without quite kneeling. Maedhros grit his teeth as a claw like hand reached out to stroke his cheek and move the hair obscuring his eyes behind a pointed ear._  
_“Get your hand off me,” Maedhros hissed through clenched teeth, though he did not expect his words to have any effect other than to perhaps earn a quiet laugh, particularly unsettling in the small, closed space. But he had to say them, it was the only way he could show that he was still determined to fight, to defy. The Vala’s only response, however, was to pull harshly on a strand of his hair before settling his hands together and peering at his prisoner._  
_“You are weak,” the Dark Lord commented. Maedhros glared at him. Of course he was weak, he had barely been given food or water for weeks, he had been beaten and otherwise brutalized many times and the toll the fortress itself took on his Fëa was devastating. But he did not answer. This was not the battle he wished to diminish the rest of the strength during._  
   The Vala reached into his robes and produced a small piece of elven bread. His eyes glittered as Maedhros looked at it, longing and suspicion clear on his face.   
   “I am reluctant to simply let you slip away from me so easily,” the Dark Foe said quietly, smiling as Maedhros swallowed, at least part of him knowing what was about to come, “This will restore your strength, albeit temporarily.” Maedhros knew better than to reach for it. He waited, the tension in the tiny space mounting. The Vala tilted his head to the side.   
   “But you are not as foolish as perhaps I thought,” the Dark Lord continued, “You can recognize a wise exchange when it is offered. Now, what do you think I should have you do for this merciful opportunity I am granting?” Maedhros shuddered.

_(Many years later)_  
   The door to the small, but comfortable and well lit room opened. Fingolfin observed with some concern how pale and thin his nephew looked, not that this was particularly surprising. With an expression of determined calm, he approached the bed, pulling up a chair. Fingolfin had long since learned to be gentle, slow, and quiet around Maedhros. The younger elf was so easily startled and every episode of panic took a toll on his already fragile health.   
   “Nelya,” he starts, once he is sure he has gotten his nephew’s attention, “How are you feeling?” Maedhros stares at him, looking slightly confused. Fingolfin waits for a moment or so until he is given a small shrug in response. The older elf smiles gently, pleased he had received some sort of recognition. For several minutes, they sit in silence, Fingolfin doing his best to look over Maedhros’s injuries without touching him or moving his blankets or pajamas away which he knew would not go well. He was relieved to see that the particularly vicious cuts on his arms and neck were starting to heal. Likely, they could wait a day or so before Fingolfin made another attempt to change the bandages and apply salve.  
   Maedhros continued to stare down, not having shown any sign of wanting to engage with his uncle ever since he nonverbally answered his inquiry. Fingolfin was rather used to this so, with another attempt at a smile, he stood up. Without really thinking about it, he brushed a strand of Maedhros’s tangled hair off of his face. It was a gesture he had performed a million times, on his children and on his niece and nephews when they were in reach of him. Maedhros tensed slightly, glancing nervously around before returning his gaze to the bedspreads. The older elf paused once more at the door, looking at the other. Maedhros really did look thin.   
   “Are you sure there is not something you would like?” he offers gently, “Are you hungry?” Maedhros’s eyes widened in terror.


End file.
